


Cookie Dough

by ThottyBarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Fluff, Dom!Bucky, F/M, Food Kink, Kitchen Sex, Rough Sex, bucky barnes smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:58:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThottyBarnes/pseuds/ThottyBarnes
Summary: On the anniversary of your escape of the Red Room, you find yourself tormented by nightmares. Your solution? baking and one James Buchanan Barnes.





	Cookie Dough

You hadn’t remembered why you had shot up out of bed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat which glowed in the moonlight that shone through the open curtains of your bay window. You hadn’t remembered why your fingers itched or your bones seemed to be wound too tight. You did know, however, that you needed to get away from the damp sheets which clung to your skin too tightly and the grey walls of your room which were surely moving to close in on you. 

Your steps down the hallway of the Avengers compound were uneven at best, your vision seemed dark around its edges and your fingertips grazed the walls by means to steady yourself on your way to the light at the end of the hallway. The kitchen and living quarters opened up in front of you shortly, the couches and counters set against a backdrop of the glowing New York skyline. You blinked once, sucking in a deep breath of fresh air and squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the oil on your lids and the tears which had gathered in the corner of your eyes. 

You rarely had nightmares of the Red Room anymore— the old Victorian architecture and soft sounds of piano keys seeming far away, but tonight, on the anniversary of her Great Escape the memories seemed so close— so loud. The gunshots and screams and the metal of the handcuffs against the metal of your bed frame echoed too loudly in your ears. There must be some way— some way for you to block everything out, some way for you to make the horrors of That night just a little further away. 

So, you found yourself in the kitchen hips swaying in time with the spoon which mixed the cookie dough in the glass bowl you had curled in your arms. Your eyes were closed, whisper-singing the words of Beyonce’s new homecoming album under your breath. The bass and drum lines ringing in your eardrums made the reality of today's meaning seem far away. Your knees and hips and neck were loose under the beat of your favorite song, and you had been so lost in the music that you hadn’t heard the whirring of one metal arm and the thumping of two socked feet. 

Bucky Barnes had also been woken up from a nightmare. One which had shaken him to his core— two familiar colored eyes blurred in the background of a gun barrel. It had been the night you had escaped from the Red Room actually. You had taken the commotion of the Winter Soldiers arrival at the Red Room and had worked with the situation, taking out most of the HYDRA soldiers and even a few of your own instructors— the harsh women who had raised you to be quick and efficient and lethal. 

Their fault they found themselves an early grave, Bucky guessed. 

He and you had fought in the front foyer, and the Soldier could see your desperation to escape in the sloppiness of your movements. The Soldier had pulled his punches and had faced the repercussions of that the next morning, but seeing you now with your hair loose and messy and hips rolling to the beat of whatever music you were playing made every lash and smack worth it. 

Steve and Sam teased him almost every day about how you treated each other. Before you had arrived, both Steve and Sam were sure Natasha would eat Bucky alive, but you rolled into the tower with a white blouse and tight black jeans and a red-lipped smile and everything changed. Natasha had finally ended up making a move on both Sam and Steve, while you and Bucky found each other in the competition on the sparring mat. You teased him relentlessly about beating him That Night, and after explaining that he had pulled his punches, ended up caging you under him, thick thighs straddling your waist and fists on the floor inches away from your temple. You had, of course, been breathless under him and just as he was about to let you up, you ground your hips against his, and after a breathless moan from him, had flipped him over and pinned him.   
And that had just been the first time you had sparred. 

It had been a year since then. A year of teasing and absent-minded touches and sitting too close and watching each others back on missions. You were both a precise, deadly machine alone, but when there was the added factor of danger, you and Bucky would become an unstoppable team— one that even Natasha was nervous around. 

You had turned around to the island he was sitting at and finally opened your eyes to start rolling balls of dough when you saw him sitting there, one brow raised and an amused smirk on his lips. 

“О, Боже, Джеймс! Какого черта ты делаешь?” [Oh, Jesus Christ, James! What the fuck are you doing?]. You cursed, catching the bowl just before it hit the tiled floor and standing back up the glare at him. “How long have you been there?” You asked, a blush rising to your cheeks at the thought of him watching you unabashedly get down to the music blasting from your earphones. 

“Long enough, Приятная вещь. It was nice to see you look so—“ Sexy. Powerful. Beautiful. “Relaxed.” You just rolled your eyes and tried to fight the sudden heat that crept up from your neck to the tips of your ears. He watched it creep up your skin and let his tongue glide across his lower lip. You tried your best to swallow the whimper that threatened to erupt from your throat, quelling it down enough to be able to cover it up with a cough. You were usually above a whimper— but the sight of him in front of you, added with the vulnerability of that day meaning and the accumulation of the past few months worth of sexual tension reduced you to a whimpering mess as the mere sight of Bucky Barnes tongue. 

“What’re you making?” He asked, his voice a low timbre from a combination of the thick tension in the air and sleep. It seemed to rumble in your chest and your eyelids fluttered as you tried to process the words coming from his mouth. 

“I— um. Cookies. Extra chocolate chips.” You replied, shaking your head minusculely, trying to clear your head of the sudden fog which had fallen over your brain. 

“My favorite, but you knew that I think.” He smiled, resting his chin on his metal fist watching your hands dig into the dough and roll it into misshapen balls. His mouth watered as he watched your fingers and tendons in your hands flex and relax under your movements. 

“I did.” Your lips pulled into a mischievous smile before you spoke the next words. “I also know they’re Sam’s favorite as well.” A giggle erupted from your throat as you heard Bucky groan at your words. 

“But, I didn’t make them for him.” You whispered, breath catching in your throat as his sharp gaze flicked up to you. You rushed your next words, not willing to give him the whole worm before you let him have it. “I made them for me.” He smiled at you, noticing the playful glint in your eyes. 

“Wanna try some?” You asked, voice quiet and nervous as if you were asking him to do something far worse to you. He flushed but stood— the soft fabric of his sweatpants doing nothing to hide the fact that he was already half hard. You pretended not to notice as he came to stand beside you leaning his hip against the marble counter and crossing his arms. 

Okay, this is how this was going to go down, huh.

You steeled your shaking hands and pinched a small ball of dough between your thumb and forefinger and holding it out for him to take. Instead of taking the dough into his own hand, his flesh hand wrapped itself around your wrist and brought your hand to his lips. You sucked in a breath and could actually feel your pupils dilating as his pink lips wrapped themselves around your fingers, his tongue circling your fingers and hollowing out his cheeks just enough to make your heart stop dead in your chest. He pulled off of your fingers with a wet pop and a smirk at your stunned expression. 

“Tastes great, Darling.” He mumbled, his eyes flicking between your eyes and lips which were parted both in shock and in sudden need of oxygen. His fingers which were wrapped around your wrist moved so his fingers could intertwine with your own, smirking when he felt that your fingers were still damp. His metal hand moved to dip on finger in the dough, and steeling his nerves, raised the finger to your lips, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of your lips closing around his digit, your eyes fluttering shut, and letting out a tiny moan which he could feel vibrate through the vibranium of his arm. Once you had sucked all the dough off his finger, your eyes fluttered up and you looked up at Bucky’s wrecked expression through your lashes. 

“It’s really not bad, hey— mmph!” You tried to say before Bucky crashed his lips to yours, a hungry, growling assault that had your knees weak in three seconds flat. His lips were slightly dry, but warm and they fit themselves to yours almost too easily. His metal hand cradled your cheek gently, a touch which contrasted so greatly with the roughness of his lips on your own and the tight grip he had on your hand. Your chest was pressed against his own, and you could feel the hammering of his heart against yours, making you mewl and open your mouth against his. He took the opportunity to lick into your mouth, moaning at the taste of cookie dough and coffee and toothpaste. He stepped forward, not breaking the kiss and pressing you hard against the counter, making you gasp. You could feel his hardness against your stomach and you squeaked when he unwrapped his hands from you and picked you up, planting you firmly on the counter before using one hand to pull you back to him, your hot core pressing right against him, making you both cry out. 

“God, Doll. Been waitin’ to have you putty in my hands since the first time I saw you.” He grumbled, pulling away to allow you to catch your breath as he continued to plant kisses over your jaw and neck, biting down and pulling the collar of your sleep shirt to the side to leave a dark, fat bruise on your shoulder. 

You sighed and wrapped your fist in his hair, not pulling him anywhere but holding him and scratching his scalp light enough to make him moan against your neck. Your legs wrapped around his and you dug your heels into the back of his thighs— closer. You needed to be closer.

“Baby.” You whimpered, your free hand drifting under his shirt and just above the waistband of his sweat, scratching his skin and making him bite your neck in surprise, trying to repress his moans to a part somewhere deep in his chest. When you noticed him trying to be quiet, you tightened the fist in your hair and pulled him off you. 

His gaze was dark, and his lips were beautifully swollen and moist and pouting. You pulled him to kiss you once more before backing away and narrowing your eyes slightly. 

“Wanna hear you, Baby. Wanna know what’s good for you, okay?” You whispered, scratching the back of his neck lightly, making his eyelids flutter slightly. He just nodded, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer before crashing his lips to yours. 

“Need you.” You whispered against his lips, and you heard his breath catch in his throat. You smirked, making your way to his neck and planting teasing, fluttering kisses to his pulse point and the spot just below his ear, making a small whine tear up his throat. You could almost hear his heartbeat increase as your fingertips dusted just below his waistband and drawing circles in the pubic hair on his lower belly. Your hand soon found itself on the spot just above his cock before you pulled away from his neck and looking at his wrecked, breathless expression. 

“No underwear, Baby?” You whispered, looking into his eyes when your hand circled itself around the base of his cock. He made a sound and dropped his head to your shoulder and buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in and trying to not come on the spot. 

“Answer me, Honey.” You hummed, fingertips teasing the underside of him before drifting over the head, collecting the pre-cum and using it as further lubrication to start moving your fist slowly up and down his length. 

“I usually— fuck, Doll. Jus’ like that Sweetheart. Usually, sleep naked.” His voice was husky and muffled but he skin of your neck and every organ in your chest and stomach fluttered at the thought of him just down the hall, naked every night for the past year. 

“Bucky.” You whimpered, gripping him slightly tighter and moving quicker, making him whine and thrust his own hips in time with your hand. Your hips shifted against the counter underneath you, trying to find some form of friction which was so pleasantly rewarded when Bucky slipped his hand under your shorts and pressing one finger on your clit through the soft cotton of your underwear. 

“Wet.” He mumbled, hips still thrusting lazily against your motions. He cleared his throat. “Wet for me, huh, Doll?” He said a little more strength behind his voice. 

“Yeah, Buck.” You whimpered, gasping as his own fingers pushed your underwear to the side, teasing your folds before slipping two fingers all the way in, curling them upwards and pressing his thumb against your clit, making you see stars. It was only a few seconds of him moving inside of you, your own hand losing rhythm until the shocks of his movements made you see flickers of stars behind your closed eyes. 

“Eyes open, darling.” His voice was a low baritone, and you opened your eyes to see his own inches from your own. You whined, a noise coming from somewhere in the back of your throat as your thighs started to shake around his hips. 

“You wanna come for me, Sweet Thing?” He mumbled, the tip of his nose tracing over the bridge of your own. You nodded, biting your lips hard enough for the skin to turn white, and he took his other hand and pulled the lips from between your teeth. “Answer me, Honey.” He smirked, copying the words you had said to him not five minutes ago. 

“Yes please,” you whined, leaning forward and grazing your teeth over his throat. You felt his moan tear through him and nipped at the skin over his Adam's apple. “Please, Bucky.”

“Not yet, Honey.” He replied, regretfully pulling his fingers from your core and you wanted to cry at the loss of him. Your fist was still wrapped around the base of his cock, your movements long stopped in the blackness of your own pleasure. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking them both dry and pulling them away from his mouth with a pop. 

“Tastes fucking perfect, Darling.” He moaned, kissing you again and making sure that you could taste yourself on his lips.

Instead of pulling away from you, he pulled your shorts and underwear down and dropped them on the floor, your baggy sleep shirt doing enough to cover your ass and pulled himself over the waistband of his pants and brushing the tip over your slick. 

“Do we need anything, Doll?” He asked, his voice strained as he tried to fight just a little bit of the fog that lay over his brain. You winced, legs closing slightly. 

“No.” Your voice was dark, yet another reminder of what today was for you. He blinked rapidly, and let a regretful expression fall over his face. 

“Doll, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay,” You mumbled, pulling him by the back of his neck to crash his lips to yours. He squeaked and pulled away quickly, hands coming to caress your face and wiping the dry skin under your eyes. 

“No, It’s not. I’m sorry, Love.” He whispered. The sincerity in his eyes made your heart swell and your eyes flood with tears. Instead of letting him see your grief, you let your head fall into his shoulder and snuck your hands under his shirt, scratching your nails over his hips and waist. 

“It’s okay, I promise.” You whispered, kissing his shoulder and shifting against him. The purple head of his cock brushed against your clit and you both jumped and moaned, almost forgetting how close he was to you. 

“Are you sure, Doll?” He asked, his voice low in your ear as he kissed the bruise he had left on the muscle of your shoulder. 

“Please, James. Need you.” And with that affirmation, he pushed all the way in, making you both gasp loudly. You arched your back and pressed closer to him, your legs widening to a near split, and then wrapping themselves around his waist. You dug your heels into his ass to pull him closer and he hissed as the soft skin of his balls rested on the cold marble. 

“Move, Buck. Baby, please.” You whined, needing him to move or do something other than catch his breath. He started slowly— shallow thrusts as you stretched around him and he got used to the feeling of your silky, fluttering walls. 

“Heaven.” He mumbled, his voice seemed far away as the curve of his cock completely stole the breath from your lungs. You sat back on your hands, throwing your head back and moaning, feeling every vein and ridge as his thrusts became longer. His hand played with the hem of your shirt before pushing it over your tits, leaning forward and sucking one nipple into his mouth while playing with the other, rolling the bud between two of his cold, vibranium fingers. You moaned again at the sensation and his flesh hand came to clasp itself over your mouth. 

“Don’ want everyone to hear what we’re doin’ here, huh?” He grunted, thrusting harder into you, his pelvic bone brushing your clit and making a high pitched whine erupt from your lips, muffled by his hand. You pull his hand away from your mouth and lean forward, kissing him roughly and once more grasping his hair in your fist. 

“Would that really be so bad, Sarge?” His thrusts stop at your words, and before you can second guess yourself, he’s pulled completely out of you, manhandled you and pressed your chest and face against the counter. 

“Wanna play dirty, huh Kitten?” He grunted, slipping easily between your thighs and hitting even deeper than he had before. His vibranium hand was pressed against the space between your shoulders and his flesh hand gripped the fat on your hips, pulling you to meet every thrust and making you cry out against the countertop, your breath making foggy condensation marks against the surface. 

“Harder Sarge, please.” You almost cry, hand scrambling to find purchase on anything. One of them finds the sink tap and you circle your hand around it, knuckles going white as he fucks even harder into you. He leaned forward, then, and you felt all consumed by Bucky Barnes— a feeling you would never be tired of. He started to bite the skin of your shoulder blades, soothing the red marks he left with the flat of his tongue as his hand lets go of its bruising grip of your hips and circling around your front to circle and pinch your clit. 

“Fuck, Doll. ‘M close. Where are you.” He growled against your skin, rubbing his fingers harder and making your mouth open in a silent, drawn-out moan. 

“‘M gonna cum, Sarge. Can I cum, please.” You half-cry half-beg and he swears you’re sent to him from heaven by God themselves. 

“Cum for me, Kitten. Let everyone here know how good ‘m fuckin’ you, huh?” He grunts, pressing you hard enough into the counter that you feel your back crack as you tighten impossibly around him. Your thighs shake as your orgasm rolls through you, making your eyes roll into the back of your head and letting out a moan that comes from somewhere deep in your chest. Bucky feels his own eyes shut, balls tightening before spilling into you, warming you up from the inside and triggering a second, fainter orgasm ripple through your body. 

He collapses on top of you, catching his breath against the fabric of your shirt that clings to you slightly due to sweat. His post-orgasm haze is interrupted by the feeling and sound of your giggling under him and he groans, chuckling into your back. 

“I hope that perfect sound isn’t because of me.” He grumbled playfully, not opening his eyes. 

“I broke the sink.” You laughed, and he opened his eyes, seeing the tap of the sink completely disconnected from its place. He joins you, laughing against the back of your neck and kissing it lightly. You opened your eyes again, sight landing on the bowl of raw cookie dough and groaning. 

“I don’t wanna finish the cookies.” He chuckled, pulling himself out of you and pulling his pants back up. He picked up your shorts and underwear before putting the bowl in the fridge and scooping you into his arms. You squeak at the sudden action and cling desperately to him, afraid he would drop you. He kissed your temple, nosing it slightly and shushing you when you tried to wiggle free to wipe down the counter.

“Don’t worry, baby girl. We’ll take care fo it in the morning, okay. Right now I wanna see you curled up in my bed, okay?” He mumbled, his voice rumbling through his chest and making your heart swell with appreciation. 

“M’kay, Sarge.”

“You’re gonna kill me, Kitten I swear.”


End file.
